Metric System 101 and Puerile Gods with Arrows
by Kokytos
Summary: Jeff has heard that Abed is very well "equipped". Today, he will have the chance to see if that's true, for Troy and Abed have invited him to a pajama party. A lot of alcohol and a game of Truth or Dare will show him more than he expected, especially about the relationship of Troy and Abed. / Neither suited for minors nor for the pure of heart, the final chapters contain smut.
1. Introductory Salutations etc

_[Only one sentence in advance: English is not my first language, so I humbly ask you to forgive the spelling mistakes and the like I made in the text.]_

* * *

 **Chapter One — Introductory Salutations and Ulterior Motives**

Jeff knocked at the door and checked the time. He was ten minutes late, perfect.

A few seconds later, the door opened and Troy appeared with a happy smile on his face.

"Jeff, come in! _Vuestra casa es su casa_ ," he said, confounding the Spanish possessive pronouns _nuestra_ and _vuestra_ , and beckoned his guest to enter. But the former lawyer hesitated to do so. Because he was surprised by Troy's clothing.

Jeff shouldn't have been surprised—he had been invited to a "pajama party" after all—but he had thought that the guys had been using the term _pajamas_ just for fun. And yet, there stood Troy in front of him, wearing light green jammies, with dark green space ships from the Star Trek franchise on it.

Before Jeff had a chance to greet Troy and to express his astonishment, Abed entered from the bedroom, wearing the red version of Troy's attire. "Hey Jeff. I hope you brought your PJs," he said, waving friendly to their guest.

After some time, Jeff lowered the eyebrow that he had raised skeptically and entered. "Hello, Troy, Abed. And no, I haven't brought them, because I don't have any pajamas. For, you see, I am not twelve years old anymore." And he added, slightly frowning, "And neither are you."

"But this is a pajama party," Abed insisted, stepping next to Troy and accentuating their matching clothing. "We can't have a pajama party without pajamas!"

"You'll get over it," Jeff answered curtly. He had not been wearing PJs probably since before his two friends here were even born, and he did not intend to change that now. "But even without them, we can still have a party," he said and put the six-pack of beer that he had brought along on the kitchen counter. "I brought some _cervezas_."

"No, Jeff, this won't do," Abed said, shaking his head and his left index finger. "Just look at yourself!"

As commanded, Jeff looked at himself; at his dark leather shoes, his black Jeans and his navy blue sweater combined with a light blue shirt. With a smug smile, he said, "I look dashingly handsome."

As true as this may have been, it did not impress anybody. Abed insisted, "That's not the point. A pajama party is not about looking good. It's about feeling _comfortable_."

"I told you, Abed, he thinks he is too _cool_ for PJs," Troy said, before exchanging an ominous look with Abed, then smirking at Jeff, "but, lucky you, we prepared something in advance!"

Having said that, Troy rushed into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later. He was brandishing blue Star Trek pajamas. "They'll fit just fine."

Any other time, Jeff might have unyieldingly objected to dressing up like a 40-year-old man child, playing with his 25-year-old man child friends. But today, there was something he wanted from his friends and he knew he had to make some concessions if he wanted the get that. So he decided to abide by their rules.

Yet, he still had to resist at least a little bit. Anything else would have been highly suspicious.

After all, the last time somebody tried to pressure Jeff Winger into putting on clothing he considered ridiculous, it led to a pool game of life and death. "You want me to put _that_ on? Surely, you can't be serious!"

Abed, deadpan, replied, "I am serious and don't call me Shirley!" and laughed.

Troy joined his laughter, " _Airplane_ , classic," before he turned to Jeff and added, "But he's right: If you want to party with us, you'll have to wear these." He handed the clothes to Jeff. "Don't worry, there are no girls here today you'd need to impress with 150 dollar shoes. It's just us guys."

That was right, there were no girls with them that night. They were away on a trip to a so-called "Judeo-Christian Museum of Feminism", though Jeff was convinced this was just code for _getting drunk off their asses without the boys_. But he was pleased with their absence for that was very conducive to his plans.

Skeptically inspecting the blue PJs in his hands, he said, "First of all, these are 250 dollar shoes. Secondly, what have we got planned for tonight anyway?"

"Well, originally we thought we might watch a movie, sing karaoke or play charades" Abed said, putting popcorn into the microwave.

"We could watch _The Dark Knight_ ," Troy added. "We've seen it just four times this year."

Jeff commented drily, "Only four times? Sounds like you must already be suffering from withdrawal."

"Don't make light of the Batman!" Abed retorted, surprisingly serious, and thus affirming that he might indeed have been suffering from some kind of Batman-deprivation.

"But since neither Pierce nor Dean Pelton can join us this evening," Troy went on, "we can do more of the fun stuff."

"Oh? Pierce and the dean can't come?" Jeff said happily.

"Yeah, Pierce celebrates his Level 5 Laser-Lotus-Puja-Mitzvah, and the dean has an urgent appointment somewhere else."

"What a pity," Jeff said. Though he had known about the dean's appointment before.

After all, it was he himself who had called the dean and had asked him to drive five hours to a shop in the middle of nowhere, where they sold the canned Greek olives Jeff ‚liked so much, whatever he said in public'.

"But, as Troy says, now we can do the funnier stuff as well. Like Truth or Dare."

 _Truth or Dare_? Jeff jubilated internally—for that was the perfect game for his secret intentions. But he had to restrain himself. Trying to feign revulsion, he scoffed, "Truth of Dare? Why, how come we don't play Strip Poker?"

"We've never learnt how to play poker," Abed said. "But if you teach us, we can play that as well."

Jeff strenuously tried to hide the obstinate smile that slowly pried the corners of his mouth upwards, as he said, attempting to sound a little bit contemptuous, "You do know that Truth or Dare is a game for children and teenage girls? And while Strip Poker is a game for adults, you don't play it without women. I mean, I'd _love_ to play it with Annie and Britta—maybe we could do this when the girls are back from their weekend trip—but with just the two of you ... that would be ... very, very gay.—Not that there's anything wrong with that. You know what I mean.—Why would grown men like you want to play such games?"

Troy answered by nodding silently towards Abed, who was staring vacantly at Jeff's sweater.

Jeff had to wait a moment before Abed, with a somewhat melancholy ring to his voice, said, "I've always wanted to play games like Truth or Dare, or Strip Poker, or Twister, since a long time ago."

The red clad Greendalian paused a moment. Jeff thought about saying something, but did not dare to do so, he did not dare to interrupt his friend, who seemed to muster courage to say something that came from the heart.

Abed went on, still staring at Jeff's chest. "In many TV shows and movies, those games are portrayed as a normal part of the life of teenagers. Because I was somewhat of an outcast, I never had a chance to do these things with my friends and I always felt like I missed out on something. Something important." He raised his eyes from the sweater and looked first into Troy's, then Jeff's eyes, as he said, "You're the only guys I'd feel comfortable enough to play these games with, and it would mean a lot to me if we could do that."

Troy added, "And I don't care whether those are games for little girls or for children, they're fun! I mean, I probably wouldn't play Truth or Dare with Pierce, 'cause he'd probably dare me to do something really bad, or with Dean Pelton, 'cause I'd learn things about him that might scar me for life." He paused, glanced sideways at Abed and added, "And I don't care that much for Twister, 'cause, you know, the rubbing could britta things up. ... I mean, the rubbing with Annie or Britta. ... Not the rubbing with you guys ... 'cause that would totally not influence me."

"I bet that Shirley would be offended if she could hear you now," Abed said, "only talking about Britta and Annie arousing you."

"Well, that's life and she better come to terms with it," Jeff said. "She's a great woman, but her time as a woman I want to rub my body against has passed. And in twenty years guys will be talking about Annie and Britta the way they talk about Shirley now. Beauty is ephemeral." He directed his thoughts back at Strip Poker, heaved a sigh (while dancing gleefully in his mind) and said, "Well alright. I'll do it, I'll play these stup– these fun games with you." And he finished as if he were making a great sacrifice, "If it means that much to you, Abed."

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool. You can change in our bedroom. See you in a minute."

Jeff nodded and went into the bedroom, blue Star Trek pajamas in his hands. As soon as the door closed behind him, the broad smile that had been imposing itself on his lips was finally allowed to show itself.

He couldn't believe how simple it would be.

He had thought it would be way more difficult to see the guys nude.

Since several weeks ago, he had been fascinated with the crotches of Abed and Troy—since the one time when he had visited them at their apartment and, just before the apartment door had opened, had heard Abed saying, "When I'm fully erect, about 30 centimeters."

Jeff had had no idea how long 30 centimeters are because he had never felt the need to learn the metric system. He _had_ had no idea—until that day, that is. He later grabbed his phone, did the math and was astonished when he found out that 30 centimeters are equivalent to almost twelve inches, to a foot—almost twice the size of Jeff's own penis.

And later, another thought had started crossing his mind: Abed had given Troy's character in Dungeons and Dragons the name _Hector the Well Endowed_. Why? Was Troy's even bigger?

For some reason, he felt the irresistible urge to know it for sure.

He had never been that much interested in penis size. He knew that there were guys with dicks bigger than his and that there were guys with dicks smaller than his, but he had never really cared about that. As far as he knew, his penis was at seven inches a little bit above average, and that sufficed in his eyes. Of course, he wouldn't have minded if his joystick had been an inch (or 2.54 centimeter) longer or a bit thicker—but he was happy with his—as he like to call it—with his _gavel_ , and none of the women he had been intimate with had ever complained.

But when he had overheard Abed's proclamation, that had changed.

Now, whenever he was trimming the bush or masturbating or just scratching himself down there, he wondered what it would be like if there was more. And—at least he thought so—also his lady friends started wondering the same: if it weren't nice if there were a few inches more of Jeff to love and to caress. They didn't say anything about his size out loud, but he started seeing signs he interpreted that way.

And now Jeff wanted, no, he NEEDED to, he had to see the real things. He had to know if it was true.

He had already seen Troy and Abed in their underwear once: Quite some time ago, the study group was searching for Annie's lost pen and all had stripped down to their underwear in order to prove that they weren't hiding it on their bodies. At that time, Jeff might have noted if Abed's briefs had been unaccountably brimming or if there had been an anaconda winding its way through Troy's boxers. But since Jeff's eyes were mostly fixed on the ladies' lingerie, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything, even if any of the guys had been wearing a medieval chastity belt.

He did somehow wish that it were a lie, or that he had simply misheard. After all, Jeff was a little bit competitive from time to time, and having a big penis was—in Jeff's mind and in the minds of many people of both sexes—a victory. Maybe not a very important one, maybe a very small one, but a victory nonetheless. Having the biggest penis in the study group was not a thing to brag about, but hey, it would have still been nice just to know that it was true.

Although, he had to say, that he wouldn't really mind that much losing this competition to Abed or Troy, or even to both of them. Jeff didn't like losing in general—that's one of the reasons he had been such a skillful lawyer—, but he considered losing against his best friends to be almost as good as winning himself. (On the other hand, he would have been REALLY pissed if he had reason to believe that Pierce or, God forbid, Chang were better equipped than he.)

But be that as it may, he had nothing to worry about anymore. If they were going to play Strip Poker and Truth or Dare, he was unavoidably going to see enough. Either during Strip Poker because they wouldn't be able to beat Jeff, who had been playing Poker for years, or during Truth or Dare because he could (and, if necessary, would) inconspicuously use dares to make them do things like asking nude for a cup of sugar from their neighbors.

Jeff checked his reflection in the mirror of a wardrobe and looked at the hunk in baby blue fabric. The guys had correctly guessed Jeff's size and the pajamas were comfortable; they were tight enough to underline his physique and show his assets, yet still loose enough so as not to hinder any of his movements. However, he felt ridiculous: He might just as well be wearing a diaper and a bib while suckling on a pacifier.

He would have to make sure that no photographic proof of this humiliation would ever be recorded.

While his gaze wandered across the reflection of his body, something else caught his eye. He saw something lying on the desk behind him: a ruler. He moved to the desk, grabbed the ruler and checked its graduation.

The ruler was twelve inches long.

It was of the purported length of Abed's penis.

Jeff hesitated for a moment, then he held it to his crotch as if it were his erection and checked his reflection again. His first thought was how huge it seemed on his muscular frame, and how unrealistically huge it must seem on a scrawny body like Abed's.

Jeff moved his right hand along the length of the ruler as if he were masturbating. He thought about how unpractical such a thing could be. That it might in fact be very unpleasant for a woman to be—there's no better word—to be _impaled_ on this. That maybe the two guys, when they were still younger, felt somehow like freaks because of it and that it may have to do with their social inadequacies.

His next thought was how easy it must be for the two to fellate themselves.

He chuckled, then remembered that his friends were waiting for him.

Jeff looked again at the reflection, watching himself "masturbating". He sped up the movement of his hand and silently moaned as if he were having an orgasm and ejaculating on the mirror (not without forgetting to shake off the last drops of "sperm" from the tip of the ruler), chuckled again and restored the ruler to the desk.

Having urged his facial features back into a not too enthusiastic expression, he joined his friends in the living room. "Well, I have to admit—", he began talking, when he was interrupted by Troy's exclaiming "SAY CHEESE!", followed by a blinding flash of lightning.

"Aaaaand it's sent. The girls are gonna love this," Troy said with a big grin on his face and his phone in his hands.

A second later, Abed's and Jeff's phones signaled the arrival of a new message. Jeff didn't check it, he already knew what he had gotten. Abed did check his though and commented, "Cool. Cool, cool, cool."

"I'll get you for that," Jeff said calmly and threateningly to Troy. "Later. When you least expect it.—Well then, what's planned now?"

Abed handed him a beer and said, "We haven't decided yet."

"We thought about watching _Caddyshack_. Did you know that one of the lead actors is the spitting image of Pierce? A younger Pierce, that is."

"No, thanks. I'm grateful for every moment I don't have to think about that guy or people who look like him."

"Well, we've been discussing about some other movies to watch and can't agree. You decide," Abed said and pointed at their impressive movie collection, which ranged from _Kickpuncher & Mecha-Godzilla vs Punchkicker_ and _American Pie_ to _Eraserhead_ and _My Dinner with André_.

"I really don't mind. Any movie becomes a good one if watched with one's friends. And anything's better than discussing half an hour about which movie to watch."

"You are not helping us decide. Choose a movie."

"Alright," Jeff grunted. "Let's just watch _The Dark Knight_. I love the performance of the Joker in that movie." He paused a moment and added, "And the Joker will be a fitting transition to a nice game of cards afterwards."

" _The Dark Knight_ it is, then," Abed said in the raspy voice of the Batman.

Three minutes later, three guys in pajamas were sitting comfortably in front of the TV, beer, popcorn and _Let's_ chips at the ready, watching the golden logo of Warner Brothers turning into the baleful night sky above Gotham City, where a desperate populace wistfully awaited the hero they needed.


	2. Divesting and Contortionism

**Chapter Two — Divesting and Contortionism**

Almost three hours later (including a break to get beer, make a fresh batch of popcorn, go to the toilet and just relax the strained buttocks), the movie's ending credits rolled.

They had been intensively discussing the movie while watching it, had talked about the various actors who had embodied the Joker or the Batman, how the death of one of its main actors might have affected its reception by critics and the public, the philosophical issues broached by the plot, and so on; so they felt no need to discuss it further. The only topic left unmentioned was the one thing Jeff couldn't help thinking about: the Batman's codpiece.

He had seen the movie twice, maybe thrice, not once thinking about that piece of equipment. But on that evening, his mind was set on looking at dicks. How many inches could be hiding within that armor? Would it fit someone hung like Abed or be to tight for him? What if the Batman got an erection while saving an attractive woman; was there some kind of mechanism that would hide a Bat-Boner?

Abed got up and stretched, exposing part of his midriff. He proposed, "So how about Strip Poker? We still have to learn the rules and I don't want to start too late."

"Yeah, alright. Strip Poker it is," Jeff said, showing little zeal, while picking a popcorn that had dropped between his body and the arm rest.

"I'd thought you would be more enthusiastic about it," Troy said. "After all, you have been complaining an awful lot about having to wear jammies. Now we'll strip you of them."

"Don't be so sure about that," Jeff said, convinced that he would have no problems winning. He clapped his hands, and stood up. "Alright, Red Pants, Green Pants, I'll get us some beers and then let's get busy!"

One and a half hour later, a lot of explanations had been said and a lot of beer had been drunk. And a lot of cuss words had been used, mainly by Jeff, for the game didn't go as he had planned: The former lawyer had become formerly dressed.

He had lost four games and had had to take off the pajama top, the pajama bottoms and both socks (they had agreed that one sock alone counts as one piece of clothing), leaving only his briefs with orange and black tiger stripes on him.

Troy had had almost as little success as Jeff, had lost three games as well as his socks and the pajama pants (though he had still left on the green pajama top). Abed wore his PJs the same way as before, for he had won every game.

Jeff had been holding back in the beginning: He had been playing poker for years with his lawyer friends and thought he'd give his friends a chance to win at least a few rounds. But very soon he found out, that he was no match for Abed. The guy in the red PJs was—apart from being a fast learner—an unfathomable mystery: The features of Abed's face never betrayed the thoughts within.

Troy on the other hand was no good at bluffing, Jeff could read him like an open book, but Troy also had an advantage: Somehow, he was able to see through Abed's mask. Maybe because they had been living together for quite some time now, maybe because they had many common interests, maybe because they shared a bond closer than many married couples—whatever the reason: Troy could sometimes guess when Abed bluffed.

And another possible reason for Jeff's constant losing could have been aforementioned inability to concentrate on anything else but Troy's penis to his left and Abed's penis to his right. But at least part of that mental tension had molten away now: When Troy had been taking off his pajama pants, he accidentally lifted his pajama top for a moment. That had given Jeff the chance for a short look at Troy's crotch and the navy blue, tight boxer briefs there. In that moment, he could see Troy's member creeping below the waistband almost all the way to the hip. (If Jeff had had the opportunity to get a better look, he would have been able to take consolation in the fact that Troy's penis—for whatever reason—was not flaccid, but half erect.)

In other words, Jeff's pride had taken heavy blows in two ways: His pride as a gambler was mutilated by Abed, his pride as a man was mutilated by Troy. But looking at his cards—clubs from nine to king—, he felt a bit of satisfaction. Chances of winning were always good with such a straight flush.

In the current game, Troy had already folded. Jeff was scrutinizing—without success—Abed's face. But he might just as well have been staring at a brick wall; the face, slightly inclined to the left, dark eyes staring at Jeff, gave no token of whatever mental processes went on in that strange brain. Yet Jeff was sure that he would win at least this round. He probably would have to go bare next round, but he would have at least won one game and stripped Abed of one piece of clothing—Jeff's honor and his pride would be saved.

"Look at it and weep, Abed," Jeff said with a happy grin. "Straight Flush." He took a victory sip of his beer, and went on, "Take it off."

Abed stared at Jeff's hand, his face still void of any expression.

"Now wait, Jeff," Troy said, "I know that look of Abed's. I think he holds something even better."

Jeff, horrified, looked at Troy, then, flushing, stared at Abed. "You've got to be kidding me!"

But his opponent, without showing his hand, folded as well. "No, I was bluffing. I only had a pair of sixes."

While Troy shuffled the cards and Abed started unbuttoning his pajama top, thus exposing his bare chest, Jeff sighed again with relief and got up. "I'll get me another beer. You guys want one as well?" he asked.

Abed nodded silently while Troy said, "Yes, please. And while you're up, would you mind turning up the thermostat a few degrees? It's getting chilly without clothes."

Jeff returned with three degrees of warmth and three cans of beer. He sat down and prepared for his last round with clothes on. But the next games turned out way better for him.

Probably because of the booze.

The beers they had been drinking throughout the evening had finally started taking their toll on the alertness of Abed and Troy. Jeff on the other hand had been better adjusted to drinking alcohol, so his skills did not suffer as much. Therefore he had won the following games and leveled the field: All three of them had stripped down to the underwear; Abed was just at the moment standing up to take off his pajama pants, stumbling a little bit due to his being drunk.

And while Jeff's pride as a gambler had been restored, his male pride suffered another defeat, when Abed—with just a hint of shame and reluctance on his face—took off his pajama pants. Jeff nearly choked on his beer when he surreptitiously tried to ogle Abed's tighty whities and saw the outlines of what slept there: Abed must have been hiding something even bigger than Troy's penis. Jeff didn't see the whole length of it—for it was tucked between his thighs—, but, judging by the way the underpants were bulged and weighed down by their content, there was no doubt: Abed might even put a stallion to shame.

Jeff had seen enough for a day, he had achieved what he had came for. And having a rough estimate of his friends' lengths, he felt a little bit ashamed to disclosing his own. So he yawned, checked the time on his phone, and said, "It's getting late and we're getting drunk. How about we call it a night?"

Slightly slurring the words, Abed insisted right away on his staying. "Tomorrow's Saturday, you don't have to get up early, do you?" Jeff shook his head, noticing that the world continued spinning a second even after he had stopped the movement. Abed went on, "Troy and I, we've got no plans for tomorrow either. It so much fun right now! Stay a little longer!" He pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "I bought some tequila. As they say in Spanish: _Para todo mal, mezcal. Y para todo bien, también_ _._ "

"Speak English, _mi amigo_."

"Roughly translated: _For every ill, Mezcal, and for every good as well._ "

"You could sleep on our couch and spend the night here," Troy proffered, "if you don't want to go home drunk."

"Well, I wouldn't GO home drunk anyway, I'd call a cab," Jeff said. He then considered his options, though it was an easy decision:

Option 1: He'd go home now, spend the rest of the evening alone in his apartment, maybe visit some sites on the internet that would made him feel completely heterosexual again, and finish his day into a kleenex.

Option 2: He'd stay here with his friends, enjoy some drinks, have fun and play games.

Option 2 would probably bring all three of them a day with a bone-crushing hangover, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

"Alright," he introduced his decision, "I'll stay. But I still prefer ending Strip Poker. I'm not drunk enough to take it all off. Let's play something else." And when his friends signaled their agreement, he went on, saying, "Great. And with some tequila this might become one very fine pajama party."

Obviously, Jeff didn't realize that all three of them had but their underpants on, so technically it would rather be an underpants party.

"There's just one thing I need to do first," Jeff stated, grabbed his smart phone, and showed it to his friends. "You need to hide this from me. I don't want to drunk dial anyone." And he added, "Not again," having remembered an earlier bingeing session with Abed, when he, totally wasted, had called Britta and filled her voicemail with more or less confidential and more or less intelligible information.

"I'll take care of that," Troy said, took the phone out of Jeff's hands and went into the bedroom, while Abed, barely avoiding a collision with the kitchen counter, went to the cupboard where the two had stored their liquor. A moment later he rejoined Jeff at the table with a bottle of tequila and some glasses.

Troy reentered the room as well and got back to the subject of Jeff's phone. "You're not going to find it now," he announced.

"Did you hide it in the repair kit for the Dreamatorium?" Abed asked while generously filling their glasses, oblivious to the fact that he should not have asked this in front of Jeff.

"No, I didn't," Troy answered in a way that clearly stated _Yes, I did_. But since Jeff had no idea what a repair kit for a Dreamatorium might look like (though he imagined it to be psychiatric medication), this was a morsel of very useless information. He just hoped that this repair kit was stored in a dry place and not, for example, in the shower.

Troy's glass was inauspiciously filled to the brim, so he moved his lips to the glass instead of the other way round and took a first, slurping sip, grimacing as the cheap liquor burnt his innards. Then he said, "Now that Strip Poker's off the table, what are we going to play next? Charades? Beer Pong?"

Jeff didn't answer, instead he looked at Abed and, without uttering a word, passed the question on to him.

"There are two more games," Abed said, "I would very much like to play, the one's Twister, the other's Truth or Dare." Thinking that Jeff would interrupt him then, Abed raised his hand to stop him from doing so (though Jeff didn't intend to do that). "I know that you don't want to play either of them, Jeff. But please listen."

He noticed that his pronunciation had suffered from the detrimental effects of alcohol, so Abed took a deep breath and went on, a little bit slower, his eyes focused on the glass in front of him. "I've always envied the people on TV who play games like Twister—games you don't play them with just anyone; you don't share your most embarrassing secrets with people you don't trust, and you don't get into that much physical contact with people you're not comfortable around."

He paused for a moment and looked into the faces of his friends. When nobody said anything else, he went on, gazing at the poker cards still lying on the table.

"You probably won't understand this sentiment, because you two have had friends all your life—but I have not, I've been forced into solitude. ... Maybe you can understand me better if you think of my request this way." He closed his eyes and went on. "Imagine that you've been blind for your whole life, that you could never see. But you heard people talking about the things they saw, about rainbows, snowy landscapes, or just the light shimmering through a cloud. You'd envy them, wouldn't you? You'd dream of having their experience, even if it were for just for an ever so short minute." He reopened his eyes and looked at his friends. "And then, imagine that you had the chance to _really_ see something, maybe only for a second, and maybe only a boring run-of-the-mill clover with three leaves. Still this would mean the world to you, and you probably would do everything for that, wouldn't you? At the same time, the people around you, who have had functioning eyes their whole lives, who have seen thousands of clovers, with three, four and even with five leaves—for them this little plant would be absolutely irrelevant, they wouldn't ever stop, bend down and pick it up to take a closer look at it. But _you_ would, wouldn't you? Even if the people around you thought you a fool ..."

Then he fell silent.

Jeff and Troy, who had been listening quietly and attentively, couldn't think of anything to say

Finally, Jeff raised his voice. "I ...," he cleared his throat and went on, "We'd never think of you as a fool. And even if we did: It's often the fools who see the clearest, who _see the world spinning round_ , as the Beatles say." He looked at Troy, who stared with a sad expression at Abed, and then finished, "I don't mind stopping a moment and picking up a little clover." He put a hand on Abed's shoulder. "Let's play!"

Abed rose happily from his chair. "Thank you."

"Yeah, let's play," Troy said, still a bit gloomy from having heard Abed's story. "Too bad, though, that we don't have a twister mat. We can't well play without one. So we'll have to skip—"

"No, I do have one," Abed interrupted and went into the bedroom, saying, "When I bought tequila, I bought a twister mat as well. Just in case it would only be the three of us."

He disappeared and left Troy and Jeff alone.

"Troy, why the sad look?" Jeff said. "Cheer up, my friend. I'm not too big a fan of this man-on-man action, but it seems to mean a lot to him, and it certainly will not kill anybody of us."

"It won't kill anyone, but I fear it might destroy something." He seemed deeply troubled. "Jeff, there's something I need to talk to you about—" But Abed reentered the room, interrupting Troy, who added in a low voice, "Later." He then got up to help Abed prepare the battlefield to be. Jeff joined them.

While they pushed aside the furniture, staggering a little bit, fighting with gravity and balance, Jeff asked, "By the way, if this game means so much to you, why didn't you just ask us?"

"I wanted to play just with you two, my best friends," Abed answered. "But that's not that easy as it sounds. Pierce is easily offended, so I can't just _not_ invite him, I had to make sure that he couldn't come. If he found out some way, he'd just shoulder his way in—like the one time when he cost the two of you your trampoline. And the same is valid for the Dean. He is like a bloodhound—a bloodhound determined on finding Jeff. So I had to wait for an opportunity, when none of the others had time."

"Alright, but what about the girls? You don't want to play Twister and Truth or Dare with them?" Jeff said while smoothing an edge of the mat. "Apart from that, you could play these games with Troy any time you want."

"I _could_ play Twister alone with Troy, but it wouldn't feel like the real thing with just two people. Just like it's a difference whether you go to the movies with just one friend or with two or more; it's not the same. And about the girls ..." Abed hesitated a moment, before he went on, "Don't tell them, but I just don't feel that close to them.—I really like them, but there is something a little bit off … It's different from when I'm with you guys. I don't know why, though. Maybe it's because we're of the same sex, maybe it has to do with sexual tension. Maybe we can't really be friends if there is sexual attraction."

Incidentally, Jeff looked at Troy. And the devastated expression he saw there—at that very moment, when Abed had said that last sentence—that expression told Jeff all he had up till now so miserably failed to understand about his friend.


	3. Advanced Troy

**Chapter Three — Advanced Troy**

Jeff's eyes widened in surprise when he saw in his friend's face what hid in his friend's heart. Like everybody else in the study group, he had often joked that at least one of the two might like the other more than like a friend—but no one never really considered the possibility, everybody thought that it's just a very special friendship.

Troy's and Jeff's gaze met for a moment, informing the former that the latter knew. Troy, looking at that moment like a child that was caught doing something forbidden, closed his eyes, turnt his head away and looked once more longingly at Abed.

There it was, clear as daylight. Jeff just had never before been able to see it: It was love.

And there was fear in that gaze as well, Troy feared losing Abed: 'Maybe we can't really be friends if there is sexual attraction,' Abed had said a minute before. For Troy, those words must have felt like daggers.

No wonder he did not want to play Twister with Abed. In Truth or Dare, he could—if necessary—just tell a lie if he were asked about his love interest. But when playing Twister, his body might involuntarily (and, considering Troy's size, unignorably) utter his true feelings, might britta his friendship with Abed, might even destroy it.

Jeff had to act fast and help Troy escape that situation, at least for now. In the long run, Troy would have to come clean to Abed, but at least this should happen at a time of his own choosing.

Luckily, Jeff was old—or _older_ , as he would have said, because, like Shirley, he did not consider himself _old_ , although both he and Shirley had seen almost twice the number of winters than Annie and Britta, Abed or Troy—anyway, he was _old enough_ as not to surprise anybody when he, after having winked at Troy, he suddenly pressed his hand against the small of his back and screamed in pain.

"What's wrong?" both his friends asked in unison.

"It's ... argh ... nothing, but I ... I must have hurt my back pushing the couch out of the way."

"You wanna lie down?" Troy asked.

"That might be ... argh ... a good idea," Jeff said and lay down on the incriminated couch, whimpering silently. "But ... I'm afraid I won't be able to play anything like ... argh ... Twister ... tonight. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Abed said sympathetically, then shrugged his shoulders and went on, "but there's nothing to be done about that."

Troy—though trying to hide it, visibly relieved—said, "It's a shame … but Jeff mustn't play with an injured back. Back in high school, whenever a colleague from the football team hurt his back and didn't take it easy afterwards, that's when the real troubles started. Still leaves us Truth or Dare, though."

Abed nodded. While he put away the twister mat, he said, "You feel up to that, Jeff?"

"Yes, of course," Jeff said. "It hardly hurts anymore. ... But would you mind handing me my glass?" Abed handed it to him and Jeff took a big gulp. "Aah, that's the thing. Well then, let's get started!"

"Yes, let's do that!" Abed said cheerfully and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, his glass in front of him. Troy followed suit.

Both his friends sitting in this position, Jeff was once more reminded that he was not nearly as hung as his friends. He nonchalantly laid his hand across his lap in order to keep them from inadvertently guessing too much from his boxers.

"Who get's the first question?" Troy asked, as oblivious as Abed to Jeff's little problem.

"How about we cast a die?" Jeff proposed

Abed only had enough time to open his mouth and to raise his hand in protest when Jeff laughed and went on, "I was just kidding, Abed. The time lines, I know. ... Let's each of us draw a poker card, the person with the highest card starts."

A few moments later, everyone held a card in his hand: Abed had the Jack of Clubs, Troy the Jack of Hearts, Jeff the King of Spades.

"You know," Abed said, contemplating his card, "it's almost like that time when we voted on whether Pierce should stay in our study group or not. Except that back then Troy had the King of Clubs."

"But just like back then," Jeff added, "I'm glad Pierce is not with us.—My card is the highest, I begin." He sat up and bent down to spin the empty tequila bottle that Troy had placed on the floor. After a few rotations it pointed at Abed. "Truth or Dare?"

"I sayyyy ... Dare."

Jeff ruminated the options, then he pointed at Abed's glass and said, "Let's start with something easy. I dare you to down your drink."

Abed was not the least bit reluctant. He proclaimed, "Fee sihhatik!"—which Jeff thought must mean something like _Cheers!_ in Arabic—, emptied the glass and put it with a loud _clank!_ on the floor.

Then Abed opened his mouth, presumably to impart some of his wisdom unto his friends, but instead suppressed a burp and said, "This was a mistake, gentlemen. Pardon me," whereupon he jumped up and rushed into the toilet. As soon as the door closed behind him, Troy and Jeff, now alone in the living room, heard Abed noisily emptying his stomach.

Jeff had not intended this, but he decided to make the best of it. He beckoned Troy closer, so that he could exchange a few words with his friend without having to fear Abed's hearing them.

He asked what has more or less been obvious now, saying, "Am I right when I assume that you lo—... like Abed more than you like to admit?"

Troy hesitated answering—maybe he didn't want Jeff to know, maybe he himself was not completely certain, maybe he wasn't comfortable talking about it all, Jeff didn't know Troy's reasons. But then Troy nodded and slowly said, gazing through Jeff and through the couch at the place where Abed was, "I love him, yes. More than as a friend."

"And he doesn't know?"

Troy shook his head. "He doesn't." He sighed, and added, "And he mustn't. He doesn't love me."

"How would you know? Nobody understands him. Maybe he does," Jeff said, wondering how he never had seen his friend as sad as at that moment.

"I don't claim to understand Abed. Nobody can really understand somebody else—it's often difficult enough to understand oneself—, and understanding _him_ is even more difficult. But I think I understand him _enough_."

Watching his friend's speaking so openly to him, Jeff sympathetically felt Troy's sorrow, felt almost as if it was he himself who was in love with his best friend. "But you don't know for sure," he tried to console him. And he repeated, a bit slower, laying his hand on Troy's shoulder, "Maybe he does."

Troy suddenly looked into Jeff's eyes. "You're right, I don't know. But I _know_ what it would do to him if I told him. He isn't very comfortable with change." His eyes wandered back to the place where the person he loved was. "If Abed loves anything about us—I think—, it is the _relationship_ we have; he maybe loves _the way we are friends_ , but he does not love _me,_ " he said, putting his hand on his heart while uttering the word 'me'. "If I told him, it would only change and very likely destroy the relationship he is so fond of—a relationship I am very fond of as well." He heaved a deep sigh. "Would I like it if there were more? Absolutely.—But I will not risk what, what we have."

Troy heard Abed returning, nimbly got back to his former place– _nimbly_ , taking his inebriation into account— and feigned laughing about a joke of Jeff's.

He had not thought that this would prompt Abed to ask, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, uh, ...," Troy fumbled for words. He looked at Jeff for help, but his friend had none to offer. Jeff still had to digest Troy's confession, and all he could do was gazing vacantly at Abed.

But before the silence got uncomfortable, Troy found something. "Jeff, uh, Jeff just said, uh, he said ... that the sounds you make when you vomit still sound better than Vaughn when he makes music."

Abed inclined his head to the left and said, chuckling, "It's funny because it's true." He poured himself another glass of tequila, drank a bit to get rid of the taste in his mouth, sat down again and spun the bottle. "Alright, Jeff it is. Truce—Truth or Dare?"


	4. Advanced Abed

**Chapter Four — Advanced Abed**

"Truth or Dare?"

Jeff, so he thought, had nothing to fear from either option:

Truth? He had been a lawyer. He was used to bending the truth, he had the god-like ability to _create_ truth. He could not lose with that option.

Dare? He knew his two friends. He knew: The worst dares they could possibly think of were prank calling and ding-dong ditching. Harmless things. He could not lose with the option dare, either.

"Dare," he said in the end.

"Since we mustn't strain your back, I dare you to do the same I just did and drink up." He took Jeff's glass, and filled that one, Troy's and his own,—but then, instead of returning the glass, gave Jeff the bottle. "Cheers!" he said, with a smile that could only be described as devilish on his lips.

Jeff stared at the bottle in Abed's fingers. He obviously had underestimated the evil influence he had had on his friends.

But he did not want to back out of the dare. He stood up, grabbed the bottle (which luckily was half empty—even in an optimist's eyes), raised it to his friends and emptied it, successfully suppressing the urge to regurgitate.

Having finished this ordeal with a mighty battle cry (which sounded a lot like a mighty battle burp), he said, "I hope you've got more of this stuff here—'cause I want you to drink more of this as well." Then he tipped the bottle with his foot to get it spinning.

Abed answered, "Of course, in the top cupboard," and wanted to get up and get the tequila, but Jeff said, "No, stay seated, I'll get it. In the meantime: Troy, the bottle has chosen you. Truth or Dare?"

While Troy reasoned, Jeff went to the Shrine of St Tequila (a.k.a. the cupboard) to get a new bottle of booze. On the way back, he stubbed his toe on the furniture. Suppressing a scream of agony, he limped back to the guys who were snickering about Jeff's pain. And as he sat down again on the couch, Troy said, "I'll pick Dare."

Jeff had been positive that his friend wouldn't choose truth. "Thennnn," he said, almost singing the N, "I dare you to down your glass. But it's not going to be that easy: You'll have to do this while standing on your hands."

"Pierce of cake," Troy answered, "Abed, will you assist me?", handing his glass to Abed before performing a handstand. He had obviously drunk more than was good for him: If Abed hadn't flinched, he would have been kicked in the face.

As said before, Jeff's interest in Troy's penis had subsided. A pity: Had he been watching the furcation in the Y that was Troy's body at that moment, he would have seen that the shift of the gravitational pull had rearranged the contents of the blue boxers in an interesting way: They were loose enough to shed some light on the matter, so to say.

But nobody paid any attention to that as Troy drank from the glass that Abed was holding to his lips. Not all of it entered Troy's mouth though: Some of it trickled down his upper lip into his nostrils, forcing him to cough and do his baby sneezes, to the raucous delight of Abed and Jeff.

Troy hadn't been enjoying this "pierce of cake" very much, so he was very happy when his glass was finally empty and he was able to get back on his feet. But his balance was a little bit off; when the world turned downside up again, he staggered and almost fell over. Luckily, Abed had caught him, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and made sure he sat down safely.

And when Abed's hands touched Troy's body, an inconspicuous smile— a smile Jeff had never noticed before—had appeared on Troy's face, barely insinuated by his lips and his eyes, yet clearly visible.

"Thanks, pal," Troy said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he spun the bottle. Since it ended up pointing at himself, he spun it a second time. This time it was Abed's turn.

Without waiting for the question, Abed answered, "We've had enough Dares for now … So I say Truth."

Troy thought a moment, then he said slowly, "Imagine you had a love potion which made the person drinking it fall madly in love with you. Which girl ... whom would you have it drink?"

"Good question, Troy," Jeff said, very intrigued by this topic. He knew that Abed had had a few relationships with girls, but they never lasted long—Jeff hesitated calling them relationships at all: Abed never had spent much time with his girlfriends, as if he didn't really care for them. Maybe because there was somebody else in his heart? Somebody with whom he preferred being? Somebody with whom he already was most of his time?

Abed inclined his head and looked at Troy.

"I wouldn't use such a potion," he answered curtly. "Such a potion would always lead to ironic consequences. _Madly in love_ might mean that she becomes a jealous, murderous stalker, like in _Fatal Attraction_ , who tries to kill me if I don't spend every single waking moment with her, or something like that."

 _He said ‚she',_ Jeff noticed silently.

"You've got to use it," Troy insisted. "You must pick someone. But let's just say that the potion makes her fall in love with you, in a totally normal and not at all creepy way. Not like in _Fatal Attraction_ , but like in … like in _Love actually_ or the like. Whom would you make it drink?"

Abed thought, his eyes moving from left to right and back again, as if he were reading an invisible list, and in the end said, looking at Troy, "I do not want to answer that question."

Troy moved his hands in a gesture that said, "Well, why?," and waited for an explanation. When none came, he asked aloud, "Why not?"

"I do not want to answer," Abed repeated. "Please, Troy, I want to change my choice to Dare."

Jeff intervened. "Answer, Abed. Not wanting to answer a question because it's embarrassing is no reason to back out of it. That's part of the game YOU wanted to play with us."

But Troy said, sympathetically, "It's alright, Jeff, I think I know his reasons. Abed, I'll change it to a Dare. Let me think."

Jeff stared at Abed who now attentively and with downcast eyes inspected the glass in front of him. Jeff thought about what might be the reasons.

Maybe it had something to do with Abed's dislike of change.

Knowing whom Abed liked, whoever it would be—that would change things.

It would annihilate a part of the mystery that always enshrouded this ethereal entity called Abed, which never really belonged to this earthly realm, which always seemed to be part of an other world, and this knowledge would pinpoint, banish this being into the earthly dominion of the lesser mortals, subject it to their curious and importunate gazes and inquiries—it would injure this intangible creature in the most dreadful way: it would make it seem as human as everybody else.

That's the gist of Jeff's thoughts. His brain was at this moments inundated in alcohol, therefore quite incapable of transmitting these ideas in these words, but that's what it would have wanted to say.

In the meantime, Troy had found a new idea. "Ok, Abed, I dare you to drink your glass. But—you'll have to drink it while mooning the sidewalk."

"Moon?" Abed seemed spooked. "But ... people might see my butt."

"That's the point."

Jeff, not saying it out loud, remembered at that point that Troy had once or twice said that he liked ‚butt stuff'; in the light of what Jeff had found out about Troy that day, this utterance had gained a whole new meaning.

Abed slowly grabbed his glass and went to the window, where he opened the curtains and looked out. "There are people walking by."

"Better not keep them waiting," Troy teased.

Abed put his glass on the windowsill and reluctantly turned around. He plucked with both hands a few times nervously at the waistband, trying to delay the rise of the full moons.

But in the end, encouraged by Troy and Jeff, he completed the dare—though he did it as fast as he could: He put the glass in his mouth, holding it with his lips, pulled down the backside of his underpants, threw back his head, swallowed the liquor, readjusted his clothing and drew the curtains again. In total, his backside might have been exposed two seconds.

His bottom properly clothed, he peeked once more through the curtains to see if anybody from the sidewalk was staring up to their apartment, sighed a _phew!_ of relief, then went back to his friends.

"Well done," Troy said, friendly patting him on the back, while Abed set the bottle into motion again. "I didn't think you'd really do it."

"Neither did I. But I had ... _hick_ ... already declined telling a Truth, so I saw no other option." In the meantime, the bottle had come to a rest and was now pointing at Jeff.

Jeff said, "Ah, what the hey. I say Dare."

" _Hick_ ... Since we started the nude dares, Jeff, I dare you to strip naked and ring at our neighbors'."

Troy laughed, "Awesome idea!—Jeff, you're going to love them. They're an adorable senior couple who loves pranks like these."

Jeff did not laugh, incredulously staring at his two friends of which one was silently hiccupping. "Are you insane? I can't ring at this hour at a stranger's door, naked! When they see a me, unknown, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the hallway, naked, drunk—they'll call the police!"

"No, they won't," Abed said, while Troy shook his head in agreement. " _Hick_ ," Abed added for emphasis.

"How would you know that? ... How often have you done this before?"

Abed only said, "We just know. And stop playing for time."

Jeff scratched his head. The neighbors' calling the police was not his main sorrow, it was—once more—the size topic.

While he knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of—his penis was larger than average—, he did not want to be the man with the smallest one in the group. But the more he thought about it, the more it dawned on him that he had nothing to be afraid of:

Those guys were his friends. They would probably tease him a bit—that was unavoidable, and he would sure as hell do the same in their place—, but two minutes later they would already be talking about something else and five minutes later they would have forgotten about it.

"Let's surprise some neighbors," he said, drank a little liquid courage from his glass, and almost jumped up from the couch—he forgot that his back supposedly hurt, but Troy and Abed had forgotten as well—and put his hands at his briefs. He gave _it_ a little tug (hoping that it might look an inch or two longer) and took off the last piece of clothing that stood between this scene's rating as PG-13 or as R.

Abed—his hiccup suddenly cured, his head inclined—stared without inhibitions at Jeff's lap, Troy tried to avoid it but was obviously very tempted by the dangling object in front of him.

Jeff took no heed of them. He grabbed his glass, opened the door, shuddered—because the temperature in the hallway was way below the temperature in the apartment—and went out. Abed and Troy, greatly enjoying this, followed him, laughing and shouting. He turned around and pointed at a door (with his index finger, that is), silently asking his friends whether this was the right door. When they nodded, he rang twice. Then he stepped backwards—so that the inhabitants, when glancing through the spyhole, would see him in all his glory—, put his right hand akimbo and waited, while taking another sip with his left hand.

And waited a little while longer, rang again, took yet another sip and waited some more.

Suddenly there was another blinding flash, followed by the hysterical laughter of his so-called friends: Abed, grinning diabolically, had immortalized Jeff's dare with a camera.

The naked man stared vacantly at them, drank up and advanced towards the two, who receded, laughing. He was not sure what he should do: Destroy the camera and tear them a new one, or accept that they had played a nice prank on him and join in their laughter.

In the meantime, they had ran into their bedroom and locked the door. Jeff entered the comfortably warm apartment, closed the door behind him and put on his underpants again. Then he knocked at the bedroom door. "Tro-oy, A-abed," he said, almost singing, "come ou-out. I will not hurt you." And he added, gnarling, under his breath, "Until you open that door, that is."

"Jeff, before you do something you might regret later," he heard Troy saying, "remember how hilarious that was." Then the two idiots burst again into laughter.

A few minutes of silence and another glass of tequila later, the two carefully opened the door and peeped into the living room. Jeff had calmed down and was sitting again on the couch.

"Hey Jeff, how are you?" he heard Abed asking. "No hard feelings, right?"

Jeff just said, "If anyone ever hears about this or sees that photograph ..." and did not utter a word about what would happen if one of this conditions were ever to be fulfilled.

They rejoined Jeff, still snickering and exchanging some words Jeff couldn't hear, and sat down.

"Just so you know," Abed said, "the neighbors you rang at aren't at home anyway. There was no chance of them calling the police because of a drunk, nude stranger with a little wiener."

Jeff ignored the last part of the remark and said "Let's just continue playing, so I can get my revenge."

The bottle was set into motion, rotated counterclockwise, slowed down, and came to a halt, choosing Abed

"Before I pick, there's one thing I'd like to know: If I picked Truth, would you ask me the question Troy just asked? The one I don't want to answer?"

"Nah, don't worry, Abed," Jeff said. "I respect that this question is taboo."

"Then I pick Truth."

"Alright. But apart from that, no more backing out." Abed nodded. "OK then, my friend, tell me: What are your greatest fears?", Jeff asked, trying to get information that could be used for revenge.

Abed did not need to consider this question long. "That George Lucas should commit another Star Wars movie."

But after a short pause, he obviously found something even more fearsome than a sequel to the prequel. "No, wait, that's not it. What I fear most than anything … is the thought of something happening to Troy."

"Me?" Troy blurted out, spilling some tequila as he almost dropped his glass. "Something happening to me? Like what?"

"Anything that would hurt you. Or that would make you leave."

"Leave?" Troy was absolutely dumbfounded. "Where? How? Why, why would I want to leave you?"

"I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders and looked into Troy's eyes. "We never know what the future brings, but I fear that it one day takes you away, away from Greendale, away from me."

Troy fell silent, as did Abed.

Jeff didn't dare to say anything either: Just quarter an hour before he had considered it impossible for Abed to divulge the name of his love interest. And now Abed had done the next best thing to doing just that. It was almost as if he had professed his love to Troy.


	5. Advanced Jeff

**Chapter Five — Advanced Jeff**

Abed having said the next best thing to 'I love you', it might have been a good opportunity for Troy to share his little secret. Yet, he didn't seize that chance. Like somebody, who wanted to catch a butterfly, but let it escape—because he feared that he might accidentally crush it.

The silence that had followed Abed's utterance was interrupted by the sound of the bottle, spinning on the floor. "Truth or Dare, Jeff," Abed asked a moment later.

Although our "injured" lawyer couldn't think of any dare that would top his having to ring naked at the neighbors, he chose Truth, crossed his arms, and prepared for the worst.

While Abed searched for a good Truth, his eyes wandered across the room, looking for inspiration. He asked Troy for an idea, but no help came from his friend, who could only shrug his shoulders. Jeff suspected that Troy wasn't thinking about any questions, but that he instead was still digesting what Abed had just said.

Finally, something came to Abed's mind. "Jeff, whom do you like more, Annie or Britta?"

"That's a very intimate question," Jeff answered.

"So is asking one's greatest fear," retorted Abed, who remembered well that Jeff had shown no such qualms when Abed himself had been asked similar questions.

" _Touché_ ," Jeff said, in his mind already digging for the answer.

So, who was it? That was a question he had wrestled with already a few times.

When Jeff had enrolled at Greendale, it was—without a doubt—Britta. Though to be precise: In the beginning, it was mere physical attraction. He wanted her, and he had had her—more than once. And when those first urges had subsided, he had grown very fond of her.

He liked her as a friend. He could talk to her more openly than to anybody else: She wasn't as naïve as Annie or Troy, nor as prejudiced as Shirley or Pierce, nor as Abedic as Abed. She could relate to a lot of the problems he had. She was living in the real world instead of in her own.

Britta understood him better than anybody else in the world. That's why he liked, adored her. He loved spending time with her. It was fun to talk with her, to drink with her, to tease her—it was even fun to quarrel with her.

But that was all; he liked her, but he definitely didn't love her.

He stared into space and scratched his chin, slowly repeating the names of the girls, while his friends refilled their glasses and drank to their health.

Annie on the other hand ...

He liked and adored her as well, and she was beautiful, and funny. And she was smart. But book-smart. Unlike street-smart Britta, she never really understood him.

In addition to that, Annie had been so terribly young when he first met her.

She had been an innocent little girl, something which must not be defiled by impure thoughts—in a way, she was holy. Whenever he had looked at her with the eyes of lust, he felt dirty, felt like a pedophile ogling his victim. And these feelings had embossed itself deeply into Jeff's mind, so that for a long time, in his eyes, she was but a young girl, way too young for a guy like him.

Apart from that, she had been in love with Troy since high school.

"Still waiting," Abed said, friendly reminding Jeff of the question.

But all of this had changed now: Annie had grown older, had become a woman in her mid-twenties, and she had lost her interest in Troy. That made place in her heart for another man. And Jeff sometimes thought of taking that place, because the way he saw her had changed as well. While she still was innocent, pure, and holy, she had become all these things in an irresistibly sensual way. And because she had grown older, Jeff no longer felt guilt when he thought of her in _that_ way.

On the contrary: It had started feeling _good_. When he was lying in bed, lonely in the night, his eyes closed, his hands in his lap, caressing himself, he thought more and more of Annie instead of Britta.

"Hello, you still there?" Troy interrupted Jeff's musings, staring and waving at him, checking if he maybe had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

"I'm thinking! Which girl I like more, that's a hard question!" Jeff said.

He thought about the last time a smile of one of the girl's had made his heart skip a beat. Soon he knew: It was Annie's. Just the day before, the study group had, for once, been just studying silently history. To rest his weary eyes, he had looked up. And incidentally, Annie was looking up at the same time. Their gazes met. Without thinking, he smiled at her. And she smiled back, her smile warming his bosom.

Maybe that was the answer he was looking for? Even now, thinking of that smile, his heart started racing.

Jeff looked at Abed and Troy, talking with each other, Abed laughing about some joke of Troy's.

And at that moment, it all became clear to him: The way Troy thought about Abed—Jeff thought the same way about Annie. Because he had been a close friend of hers, he had had troubles seeing it, had troubles differentiating friendship and love, but now it was obvious to him: Just like Troy, he was in love with one of his best friends. No wonder he had felt that close to his friend when Troy had revealed his feelings for Abed to Jeff—because Jeff felt exactly the same way about Annie; at that time, he just hadn't realized it yet.

He was marshaling his thoughts to answer, when Abed abruptly said, "Maybe that's too difficult a question. I'll ask you another one." An ill-omened grin appeared on Abed's lips. "It's a funnier one: What would you do to us if we told you that we had sent the nude photograph of you to the group, including Professor Duncan, Dean Pelton, and Ben Chang?"

All the warm feelings that had suffused Jeff's heart until now were suddenly replaced by ire and the urge to kill. He gritted his teeth, and tried the keep the forced smile on his face from turning into a snarl, saying, "I might seriously consider the possibility of tearing off your arms and use them to beat the crap out of you."

Troy smirked at Abed, "Good thing we didn't do that, then."

Abed nodded. "Yes, luckily we did not connect my camera to my laptop and the internet while we waited in the bedroom for Jeff to calm down."

The forced smile on Jeff's face grew tighter, now hurting his facial muscles. For sure these drunken idiots had shared that picture. He tried to convince himself that he had nothing to be ashamed of, yet he resolved that he would make Troy and Abed rue this.

To calm himself, he closed his eyes and imagined bashing their heads together. Then he sighed and drank a sip of tequila, before spinning the bottle. The cramped smile on his face turned into a devilish grin when Abed, chosen by the bottle, picked—once more—Truth.

"Abed, buddy, my friend, old pal," he said, his grin widening and widening, "we all know you're a fan of making movies. So ... Tell us truthfully: Have you ever filmed yourself doing _naughty_ stuff?"

Abed said calmly, "Define _naughty_."

"Oh, you know, anything explicitly sexual. Like jerking off, or having sex."

Without hesitation, Abed answered, "Yes," then paused.

He was about to elaborate, but Troy interrupted him hurriedly, "You've said enough, Abed. Jeff asked you _whether_ you made such a recording. That question is answered." Pointing at the bottle, he added, "Spin it."

Troy's not wanting this to be disclosed intrigued Jeff. He was about to protest and ask for detailled information, but Abed answered faster, saying, "Such a literal interpretation of the rules is generally neither expected nor accepted in a game like this. Strictly speaking, he has asked me whether I ever did it, but by doing so he has implicitly asked me about the basic information as well."

Troy scratched his head, looking uncomfortably, then said, "I guess you're right."

Jeff wondered why this question was so unsettling for Troy. Was it a video of Troy and Abed doing something together? They had been once talking about shooting a sex scene for a Kickpuncher reenactment, maybe they had really done that? Or maybe they had produced a special edition of _Troy and Abed in the morning_ , something like _Troy and Abed in the shower_? It certainly wasn't probable, but it wasn't totally unthinkable either.

Troy suddenly turned to Jeff, interrupting once more his thoughts, and said, "Jeff, before Abed tells you, you have to swear that you won't ever tell anyone."

"All right. I swear it. I shall not ever tell anyone of this recording I don't know anything about yet."

"Pinky swear?" Troy asked, raising his right hand and his pinky.

Jeff rolled his eyes, then said, "OK, pinky swear," and joined his finger with Troy's.

"Good," Abed said. "There exists a recording of me, Troy and Britta—"

"Britta?" Jeff exclaimed, cutting Abed off, "What's she got to do with—" Suddenly his jaw dropped. Excited, he nearly shouted, "Oh my God! You had a threesome!"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Jeff," Abed tried to calm him. "You're misunderstanding things."

Jeff closed his mouth. He thought about how he could have misunderstood that matter. The answer would have to include Abed recording himself doing something naughty as well as include Britta and Troy. How else would that be possible? Had Abed filmed himself spanking the monkey while watching Britta and Troy in action?

"It was on Britta's and Troy's anniversary, when he and I", Abed pointed at Troy and himself, "had switched bodies."

"Ah, yes, of course, the famous body switch," Jeff said in a sarcastic tone, his excitement immediately evaporating. He should have seen this Abedian explanation earlier.

"Britta had suggested that I film us having sex. Of course, I had to ask Troy first because I was using his body. But he was cool with it." Troy nodded agreeingly. Abed added, "In a way, it was a threesome, because there were Britta, my mind, and his body."

Jeff wondered if Troy's and Abed's parents might have been cousins or siblings; because that would explain why those two were into some of their little games in a manner that was way beyond sane or healthy.

Abed set the bottle into motion again, while Jeff's drunken mind once again wandered off, ruminating the thought of Britta's wanting to film herself. What if he had suggested to her making a sex tape? Did he miss an opportunity? He would have liked having a recording of Britta.

Then he started phantasizing about Britta filming herself, while she was doing something _naughty_. Phantasy-Britta was soon joined by Phantasy-Annie. He imagined that the two girls had been at a pajama party, had been playing Truth or Dare, dressed in lingerie instead of in pajamas. Both would be drunk and uninhibited. Britta would dare Annie into recording herself masturbating. At first, Annie would protest and be reluctant, but Britta would sit down next to her, calm her, tell her to relax. She would gently brush Annie's dark brown hair. 'Shh', she would say. Then, their lips, quivering in anticipation, would join in a passionate kiss. Next, Britta would push aside the strap of Annie's bra and kiss her shoulder, eliciting a soft sigh of pleasure from Annie's slightly opened mouth. Then Britta's hands would smoothly glide under Annie's shirt, towards ...

Jeff's R-rated dreams were abruptly interrupted by the laughter of his friends: In his phantasy, the girl's nipples had hardened; in reality, so had Jeff's penis.

His face immediately lost the blissful expression and took instead a deep red color. Quickly grabbing a cushion, he put it across his lap to hide his boner, thankful that his friends hadn't had a camera within reach. He hadn't been paying attention to the things happening in the room, but obviously Troy had been telling a Truth and "little Jeff" had taken the most hilarious moment to get up and say 'Hello, guys!'.

Jeff felt no urge to ask what he had missed, this would only lengthen the time his body's reaction was the center of attention. He just said, "That's a very interesting story, Troy, go on."

Troy needed a few more seconds before he was able to say that his story was finished, then, still laughing, he turned the bottle again. It turned a few times clockwise before it pointed directly at the cushion in Jeff's lap.

"Truth," Jeff said immediately, not wanting to be dared into removing that cushion.

"Well then," Troy said, "since you obviously liked my confession, tell us: What was the gayest thing you've ever done?"

Wondering what Troy could have been telling while he was dreaming, Jeff said, "The gayest thing I've ever done? Apart from playing Strip Poker and Truth or Dare with two guys?" He looked around the room, gathering memories to find the truthful answer, when his gaze stopped at Abed's underwear. "Apart from that, the gayest thing I've ever done was wanting to see your dicks."

Troy almost screamed, "WHAT?" while Abed froze, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I'm just honest," Jeff explained, WAY more honest than he would be if he had been sober. "I once overheard Abed saying that his dick is huge, that made me curious. And just look at yourselves, at your underpants. I mean, I've seen my share of porn so I know a thing or two about the size of a penis, and judging from your bulges, each of you has enough inches for two men."

"That might be accurate," Abed said, awakening from his stupor, while Troy remained paralyzed. "Mine is 30 centimeters long, that is twelve inches, Troy's has about ten inches, and the average length is somewhere around four to six inches."

As Jeff silently said to himself, "Twelve inches," he grabbed the bottle and spun it, watching Abed's lap, where the white fabric between the caramel thighs hid almost one foot of cock.

The bottle ended up pointing at Abed, who said, "I think I've said enough about me today. I pick Dare."

Jeff, still staring at Abed's lap, said the first thing that came into his mind. "Show me."


	6. Amicable Exhibitionism

**Chapter Six — Amicable Exhibitionism**

"Show me."

"Show you what?" Abed said. He must have known what Jeff had meant, but at the same time must have thought that Jeff couldn't possibly have meant _that_.

"I've never seen a dick as big as yours and I want to see it. So I dare you to show it to us."

Abed was reluctant to obey, just like before when he had to remove his pajama pants during Strip Poker, or when he had to show his ass to the passersby on the street.

"I showed you mine," Jeff said, while wondering if the hesitation Abed demonstrated now was caused simply by his tendency to imitate the behavior of the people around him, or if Abed authentically felt the wish to keep his intimacy intimate. But in the next moment, Abed pulled at his tighty whities and exposed his genitals to the curious gaze of Jeff's and the longing gaze of Troy's.

"Wow," Jeff said, admiring the flaccid thing that lay on the floor more than he dared to admit. "And you're not even hard.—In your place, I would probably use every chance to whip it out and boast with it." And after a few seconds, he added, "It's alright now, Abed. You may, uhm, ‚whip it in'."

Abed grabbed his penis and was about to restore it to its place, when he suddenly stopped his movements, contemplating the object in his hand. "You know ...," he slowly said, as if deeply immersed in thought, "there's one more thing I always wanted us to do."

Jeff cast an inquiring glance at Troy, but his friend could neither avert his eyes from Abed's dick nor answer Jeff's questioning gaze.

"What I'm going to propose now might sound strange to you," Abed went on, "and I hesitate to say it out loud because its mere proposition might damage our friendship."

Jeff waited for his friend to go on, but it took a few more seconds of silence before Abed felt ready for that. "Many guys, even the best of friends, wouldn't probably ever think of doing this together, although almost everybody does it, many talk about it and it's a perfectly natural thing to do. But since it concerns a very intimate matter—"

Abed had more to say, but Jeff had guessed what Abed intended, so he took this burden off of his shoulders by interrupting him and saying, "You want us … to jerk off together, right?"

Abed looked up, nodded, and said, "Yes." And he hurriedly added, "But if you don't want to, please forget I ever said it."

Jeff hadn't ever done this before—in his current state of drunkenness, he would have told them before, when he was asked about the gayest thing he'd ever done—and he certainly wouldn't have done this now, had he been sober.

But he wasn't. On the contrary, he was very drunk.

And Troy and Abed were his best friends. It had been a long time since he had friends he trusted as blindly as he trusted those two.

And they had already seen his dick, and he had seen a lot of inches from his friends.

And then Jeff remembered something Abed had said earlier that evening, about friends you feel so comfortable around that you feel comfortable enough to do rather strange things with them, like playing Strip Poker without women or like playing Twister or Truth or Dare. Or like jerking off together.

So Jeff was barely surprised when he felt his own body's standing up to to take off his underpants and heard his own voice's saying, "I'm in. After this evening, that's no big deal anymore."

He had already put his thumbs into the fabric, ready to strip it off, when Troy suddenly, and with a surprisingly sad voice, said, "Abed, I ... I can't."

The smile on Abed's face died immediately and was replaced by a shameful staring at the floor. He covered his penis and said, probably feeling like a pervert, "That's alright. I understand that. This is not something everybody is comfortable with." But then he looked at Troy and said, "Though I thought that it would be Jeff who wouldn't want to do it.—We two, Troy, we're so close to one another—"

Troy interrupted him, explaining, "I want you to know, Abed, that I _do_ want to ... that I _dreamt_ of doing things like this with you ... But I ... But it's ... You want us to do this as friends ... I want us to do this as ... as ..." He sighed. "It's difficult to explain ... Even if I was sober, I probably couldn't say it properly ..."

Jeff was surprised by Troy's reluctance. He had thought that Troy would love to do this. In fact, he had always thought that the two had already done this a few times. After all, the two were not only best friends, but also shared one bedroom, one bathroom, some strange interests and obviously had no problems talking about their penile measurements.

So ... why was Troy so hesitant?

Was it because of himself, because of Jeff? Did Troy not want to share this intimate moment with an intruder like him? Was Troy ... simply jealous? If that happened to be the case, all Jeff had to do was leave. Jeff would have to suddenly 'remember' an important meeting or something in the morning and all problems would be solved, everybody would be happy.

But then he thought of something else:

Abed had said that he wanted to do this _as friends_. And maybe this was the problem. Maybe this was something Troy could not do _as friends_ , but only _as lovers_ , or at least if Abed knew that Troy considered him as more than a friend. If that happened to be the case, then they couldn't share in this activity: If Troy told Abed that he loved him, it could seriously hazard their friendship, as Troy had explained before. But otherwise, if Abed were to remain ignorant of Troy's tender feelings, he would have to believe that his best friend considered him a pervert. That might have the same dire consequences.

So Troy had to act carefully. And seeing how Troy babbled unintelligibly, Jeff knew: If left alone, his two friends would not be able to avoid this iceberg. So he had to take the helm and steer them carefully into the only safe direction, to the place where Abed knew about Troy's love.

Jeff 'Cupido' Winger moved from the couch and sat down on the floor to be on the same level with them. "Troy, may I?—Abed, I have on Truth to ask from you. Even if it is not my turn."

"Uh, yeah, go on," Abed said, obviously confused by how this evening had developed after his suggestion.

"You said before, that your greatest fear was something happening to Troy, or him leaving you."

Abed looked at Troy, who returned the gaze. "Yes, I did."

"I ask of you now: What would you do if he left?"

"I don't want to think about that," Abed said, now fixing the floor with his eyes.

"You have to."

"I ... I … I don't know. I don't want him to leave. I don't want anything bad to happen to him. Troy's my best friend. I'd rather have something bad happen to me than to him." After a pause, he added, "I don't have nightmares about me dying—but of him."

Troy seemed disconcerted by this, but Jeff calmly said, "Wow, that's—in a morbid way—very romantic.—You know, Abed, if you left Troy, it would hurt him just as much."

"That's ridiculous, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't wanna hurt him."

"No matter what?—What if he said he no longer liked Kickpuncher? What if he said he preferred the American Inspector Spacetime?"

Abed and Troy exchanged glances, then looked, both appalled and disgusted by the sheer absurdity of the idea, at Jeff.

"He would never say that," Abed said. Then he paused, and, slowly turning his head to Troy, added, "But even if he did, I'm sure he'd have sensible reasons. It wouldn't change a thing."

Jeff was very glad to hear that. Sentences such as these had to convince Troy that he could profess his love without having to fear permanent damage to their relationship.

Abed looked at Jeff, inclined his head and said, squinting, "What are you getting at?"

His remark was ignored by Jeff, who said, "Troy, you heard him. He wouldn't leave you, even if you became a fan of that-which-must-not-be-named." He added with a smile, "If there's anything you wish to tell him, I'd say: Go ahead."

Troy nodded, smiling in return thankfully at Jeff, then looked at Abed, wet his lips with his tongue and began, "Abed ..."

Jeff wanted to get up, "I'll leave you alone for this," but he was stopped by Troy.

"No, please stay, I might need your help.—Abed ... There's a reason why I didn't want to do this with you ... yet ... There's something I needed you to know before." He took a deep breath, paused, exhaled and took another deep breath before saying, "We've been best friends for years, and you've become an important part of my life ... more than that ..."

Abed suddenly turned his head away, looked at the floor and interrupted him, saying, "You love me, don't you?"

Troy, taken aback, answered after a moment of silence, "Yes, I do. … More than anything."

Slowly looking farther away from Troy, Abed said, "I don't— I'm sorry, I don't love you."

For a few seconds, nobody said anything. Jeff heard the heavy breathing of Troy's.

"I've been suspecting for some time now," Abed went on. "And I had thought—and I had hoped—that you wouldn't ever tell me." He sighed. "I said before that I don't want to ever hurt you, but now you force me to. I can't requite your love, Troy." After a moment of silence, he added, "I _can_ try and I _will_ try to make you happy, but only as a friend."

Troy somehow seemed prepared for this answer. He stood up, sat down next to Abed and put an arm around his shoulder, gazing at the averted head of his friend. "Don't worry about that. I don't ask you to love me back. I only wanted you to know."

Abed suddenly started smiling, turned around and looked into Troy's eyes.

"Just as you felt that I love you," Troy went on, "I felt that you don't love me. I didn't expect you to love me back. But as long as we continue being friends, that's more than I could ever ask for."

Then something happened that Jeff considered to be one of the most beautiful things he ever saw:

In the exact same moment, each laid his left hand on his own chest, while stretching out his right hand. And they did their special little handshake.

This scene raised in Jeff an irresistible urge to say 'Aw!'. So to suppress that sound, he said jokingly, "And now I dare the both of you to kiss," causing the both of them to twitch and look at Jeff. But then they looked at each other and Troy whispered, "Just this once."

Abed looked blankly at Troy, thinking, then nodded slightly. They both inclined their heads slightly to the right, slowly bent forward, closed their eyes—and for the fraction of a second their lips met.

Jeff envied Troy at that moment immeasurably. He could but imagine the happiness his friend must have felt. Troy's heart might have been broken now, but he had been prepared for it. And Abed would help him mend it. This result was most satisfactory, although Jeff had hoped—though considered it very unlikely—that Abed would love Troy as well and would have just needed a little nudge to realize this.

Suddenly, Jeff felt like the third wheel. His two friends probably had some things to discuss—and maybe some other things to do, whatever they might be—, so he got up and said, "You guys probably want to spend some time alone."

He was about to go to the bedroom, get his clothes and leave, when he was stopped by Abed. "Why? I thought we were going to masturbate together?"

"You still want to?" Troy and Jeff asked at the same time.

"Why shouldn't we?" Abed said.

Troy explained his reasons. "Well, now that you know that I'm gay ... wouldn't that feel awkward? I mean, it would be somewhat unfair, 'cause I'd enjoy this WAY more than you.—You guys would do this as pals who are comfortable enough around each other to do these things. But for me, this is gonna be some kind of orgy. And with Abed being around, it just gets hotter for me."

"I don't mind about that," Jeff said. "Just don't get too bold," he finished, laughing.

"I don't care either," Abed stated. He added, directed at Troy, "The more you enjoy it, the more reason for me to do it."

Troy now had a broad smile on his face, in his mind probably rubbing his hands.


	7. Manual Maintenance of Amity

**Chapter Seven — Manual Maintenance of Amity**

A few minutes later, the trio was sitting on the couch, masturbating, and three pieces of underwear were lying on the floor next to them. Abed sat in the middle, to his right Troy; Jeff, the only leftie of the group, sat on the left.

In front of them was Abed's laptop, next to it a box of tissues for the cleanup. They were watching porn Abed had chosen from his laptop: For obvious reasons, Troy's computer would not have offered material suited for Jeff's or Abed's eyes. But as it turned out, it didn't matter what went on on the screen, nobody was watching it: Abed, leaning back, rubbed his member with closed eyes, only now and then opening them a little bit to squint at his friends. Troy, barely trying to hide it, was watching Jeff and Abed with the corner of his eyes, licking and softly biting his lips, staring at his friends' genitals with the hungry expression of a starved beast of prey, ready to leap forward and still its hunger. And Jeff was ogling his friends as well.

The lady on the screen—whether loudly enjoying her partner's tongue in her lap, or dragging her tongue along his shaft, or sitting on his lap and riding him—was tempting for Jeff, and he tried to focus on her again and again, but without success. He was distracted by his friends, he was fascinated by them, he couldn't resist them.

Every once in a while he heard a barely audible moan that escaped Troy's lips, every once in a while there came a squelching sound from Abed's penis, every once in a while something magically attracted his attention and forced him to study his friends: How beads of sweat trickled down Troy's shaved chest and around his dark areolas, how the skin on Abed's arms moved as the muscles beneath contracted and relaxed, how Troy and Abed silently moaned, how little drops of liquid appeared on the tips of their members … and most of all, how they handled those poles rising from their laps.

Abed was masturbating with both hands, moving them slowly along his member: the right hand on top, towards the glans, the left hand on the bottom, towards the base. He used his pelvis to assist the movement of his fists: As his hands moved up, his hip moved down; when his hands moved down, his pelvis moved up, thrusting the penis into his fists. And whenever the right hand glided over the scar of the circumcision, where his dick turned notably lighter, and reached the glans, it made a little twisting movement, sending a shiver of pleasure through Abed's body.

Troy was jerking off in a different way: With his left hand he fixed his penis at the base, while he moved his right hand up and down in fast movements. Every minute or so, he changed the grip, masturbating sometimes with the thumbs pointing upwards, sometimes with them pointing downwards.

His penis differed notably from Abed's and Jeff's in some ways: First of all, it notably curved to the left, as if it was trying to get closer to Abed. Secondly, Troy was not cut. The foreskin fascinated Jeff, moving to and fro, in one moment covering most of the glans, in the next moment baring the rosy skin beneath almost entirely, just to cover it half a second later again, when the fist moved up again, squeezing yet another drop of pre-ejaculate out. And a third thing piqued Jeff's interest: the thickness. Troy's penis was an inch or two shorter than Abed's ("a few centimeters", some might say), but what it lacked in length it generously compensated in girth: When Troy wrapped his fingers around it, the tips of his index finger and his thumb didn't touch.

The more Jeff was contemplating his friends' dicks, the stronger the urge became—the urge to touch them, to feel them in his own hands, and to give his friends pleasure. And as he still was wondering how their members might feel in his hand and whether they would like it, he acted on that urge.

Without saying a word, he boldly grabbed to the right, his fingers closing tightly on Abed's shaft, on the space between Abed's fists. And before he knew, the three were caressing each other: Abed jerked off both his friends while the right hands of Troy and Jeff moved up and down on Abed's penis, all their hands moving in the same rhythm.

Jeff blushed. He was not prepared for how _awesome_ it felt to masturbate this way, to feel another man's hand gliding up and down on his own member, and at the same time feel the silky, warm skin of another man's penis on his own palm and on his own fingers. It was a more mutual experience then ever: Whenever he had touched a woman's intimacy, he could but guess what his vis-à-vis felt. But now he knew exactly: He knew what it felt like to have his shaft grabbed tightly, to have his testicles brushed by tender fingertips, to have his glans stimulated by the palm of a hand; he knew what sensations he caused in Abed.

As he felt another drop of pre-ejaculate running from Abed's member over his index finger, he looked to his right. Judging by the expressions he saw on the faces of his friends, he was not the only one enjoying this more than he had thought:

Troy was gently leaning his head on Abed's shoulder, his eyes were closed, his nose was close to Abed's skin. A blissful smile rested on his face as he filled his nostrils with the perfume of the person he loved. And whenever he exhaled, a quiet moan left his slightly opened lips.

Abed's expression was unusually easy to read, for he was smiling as well, though Jeff could only see half of that smile; Abed had his eyes closed and his head tilted to the right, so that Troy's hair brushed over his cheeks.

The two looked like real lovers.

Suddenly, the moaning from the far right got louder. Looking at Troy's lap, he saw that the transparent fluid, that had before been oozing in small quantities out of the glans, had turned milky white and was flowing in large globs over Abed's hand, over his fingers and through the spaces between, trickling downwards, dripping on Troy's stomach and filling his navel.

Troy hurriedly excused for not having said anything beforehand, adding that he had been on the verge of the orgasm since the moment Abed had sat down next to him. But Abed didn't seem to care about the mess, instead he was contemplating Troy's semen, glistening on his right hand, until he took one of the kleenexes that Troy had handed to him, and removed the white liquid with the absorbent tissue.

Maybe a minute later, Troy suddenly said, "You know … if you guys don't mind, then I could, you know …" He didn't say it out loud, instead gestured it by moving his fist to his mouth and pressing his tongue into his cheek.

The suggestion had a notable influence on Abed: All of a sudden, his grip on Jeff's member became firmer, the movements of his hand became faster, but it paused an instant every time it reached the base or the tip. Jeff had been nearing the climax before, but now, this new way of being jerked off by Abed pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

"Leggo," he said to Abed, gasping, "I'm about to cum."

Abed let go of Jeff's penis, giving way for Jeff's left hand to finish the job. A few up and down movements later, the pressure within his lower body rose and rose, until, with a force never felt before, Jeff came.

He moaned loudly as his semen rushed through his shaft and a first powerful surge of his sperm gushed against his chin, followed by weaker ones that marked his torso with white streaks and drops.

Abed had watched Jeff's orgasm silently, with eyes widened in surprise. Troy on the other hand laughed with excitement. "That's quite a cumshot," he said, obviously aroused by the spectacle, and handed him the box with kleenexes. "You'd put some professionals to shame with that."

Jeff blushed. That was the first time that had ever been complimented on his masturbating or his ejaculating. "Uhm, thank you?" he said. "But I usually don't shoot like this," he added as he cleaned his torso, his neck and his face, each of his movements followed attentively by the curious gazes of his friends.

While Jeff was wiping away the last whitish drop from his pecs, Troy got up and knelt down in front of Abed. "My offer still stands," he said, obviously eager to give pleasure to the person he loved.

"I always wondered," Abed said, "what that would feel like."

Troy, sitting between Abed's legs, scooched hopefully a bit closer, .

"Haven't you ever tried it yourself?" Jeff asked, curious. "I mean, sucking yourself. It can't be that difficult with that kind of equipment."

"It isn't," Abed answered, then leaned forward and easily took his own whole glans into his mouth. Sucking on it for a second, he caused Jeff to gasp. Then he leaned back again, his lips and his glans momentarily joined by a thin thread of liquid. "But I bet it feels completely different when somebody else does it. Just like it's a difference between jerking off and being jerked off."

Troy cleared his throat, scooched again a bit closer and cleared his throat again. His lips were now merely a few inches from Abed's glans.

Abed gazed into Troy's eyes with an expression that seemed to contain a mix of curiosity and surprise, anticipation and apprehension. Then he stopped his movements, grabbed his shaft at the base and slowly, hesitatingly moved the glans towards Troy's mouth. "If you want to …"

Before he even had had the time to finish the sentence, Troy had leapt forward. His eyes were closed as his head bobbed slowly up and down, his lips locked tightly onto Abed's member, caressing the top part of it while his hands tenderly took care of the rest of it.

"Cool," Abed repeatedly tried to say, as he received the first fellatio of his life, but all he was capable of uttering was breathing "Coo—", before gasping and falling silent again. He put his hands on the back of Troy's head, running his fingers through Troy's hair. He still moved his hips as before, moving the pelvis down when Troy's head moved up and shoving his penis into Troy's mouth when his friend's head moved down.

Maybe a minute had passed since Troy and Abed's relationship had entered a whole new level of intimacy, when Abed put his hands on Troy's shoulders and resolutely, but gently tried to push him away. He said, "I'm about ... to ... to ..."

Troy paid no heed to that, instead sped up the movements of his hands and his head.

Abed moaned loudly, closed his eyes, thrust his pelvis upward, and bent forward, almost burrowing his nose in Troy's hair. His stomach muscles contracted spastically as his semen gushed into Troy's mouth. Then he fell back, exhausted, and let his arms drop down at his side. He gazed intently at his friend, who was still suckling blissfully on his member.

"You shouldn't swallow that, Troy" he said, referring to his sperm. "If I had some disease, or if I had sex with a lot of different people, it could likely infect you with a lot of diseases."

Troy opened his eyes, direct his dark eyes at Abed and moved his head slowly, very slowly back, letting Abed's penis _plop!_ out of his mouth, then audibly swallowed. "You've got no disease and you're still a virgin. Unless what I just did changed that."

"I don't know," Abed added, "whether fellatio counts."

This was a question that called for Jeff's age and wisdom, but he didn't know–or care, for that matter. Because he suddenly felt the toll the alcohol and the staying up late had taken on him. He suppressed a yawn, when he noticed how quiet the room had become and that the laptop had turned itself off some time before.

To his right, Abed said, "I can't thank you guys enough. I wish everybody could have friends like you."

"No need to thank me," Jeff said, putting his arm around Abed's shoulder. "This turned out to be an amazing night, it was a real pleasure, and I'm glad you made us do it. But I do hope that you've got no further plans for today, 'cause I'm beat." He yawned once, Abed followed suit.

Troy, still kneeling in front of Abed, said, "I have to thank you both. Hadn't it been for you, Jeff, I probably wouldn't have ever had the courage to tell Abed the way I feel about him." He took Abed by the hand, and finished with a smile, gazing at him, "And I have to thank you, just for being the way you are." Then he got up.

He was about to go to the bedroom, when Abed grabbed him by the hand, got up as well, and hugged him. Then he whispered something into Troy's ear and Troy whispered something in return into Abed's ear. It was too quiet for Jeff to understand, but their hug became tighter afterwards.


	8. Matutinal Malaise 101

**Chapter Eight — Matutinal Malaise 101**

"Urgh ..." Jeff said, awakening on Troy and Abed's couch. He squinted. The dazzling light that came through the curtains blinded him. His head felt as if it had been literally squeezed between a rock and a hard place, and as if somebody was using a hammer to shatter said rock on said hard place.

"Urgh?" he asked himself, not expecting an answer. He tried to stand up, but to no avail. He tried once more, this time successfully. The world immediately started spinning, so he sat down again. Looking at himself, he saw that he was wearing pajama bottoms. Slowly regaining some memories of the night before, he drily commented, "Urgh!"

He attempted to reconstruct the evening. There were many dark spots in his memory, but seeing the empty tequila bottles, the Twister board and Poker cards, those dark spots soon became clear. He remembered the Dark Knight, the game of Strip Poker, the existence of a home-made sex tape with Britta. He recalled that his two friends were really as hung as he had heard. He saw the empty bottle they had used at Truth or Dare, whereupon the memory of having been dared into ringing at the neighbors resurfaced in his mind. He saw the laptop and a used kleenex and remembered that they had jerked off together.

And he remembered that Troy had professed his love to Abed.

He remembered that the past evening would change the relationship of Troy and Abed—if _they_ remembered.

He made another attempt at getting up. The world had calmed down. He stretched, yawned, scratched his stomach and his bottom and, still half blind, went staggering to the faucet to drink something non alcoholic. On the way, he stubbed the same toe at the same place he had stubbed it the evening before and cursed loudly. Then he drank water from the tap and lurched towards the bedroom to get his clothes and go home.

He quietly opened the door so as not to wake his friends, when he was surprised by a beautiful sight: Abed was sleeping in Troy's bunk, Troy right next to him, or better: right on him, for he, blissfully smiling, rested his head and his arm on Abed's bare chest.

Jeff thought about making a photo of this view (after all, he had been photographed twice by them), but he remembered that Troy had hidden his phone and that he had no idea where. Well, he remembered that it was near the "Dreamatorium Repair Kit", but this was no help at all. He didn't want to go home without his phone, but he saw no reason to wake them. Deciding that it made no difference whether he slept in their apartment or at home, he staggered back, dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the couch, pulled the blanket over his head and immediately fell asleep again.

* * *

He awoke some time later. Abed had sat down on the couch, eating cereals. Judging by the way his hair was tousled, his eyes were half closed and his movements uncoordinated, Abed probably had neither noted that he had forgotten to add milk to his fruit loops, nor that he had sat down on Jeff's legs, nor that he was still nude, nor that he was staring at his laptop's black screen.

"Good morning," Jeff tried to say, but ended up uttering nothing more than, "Urgh."

Abed grunted something which probably was meant to mean ‚Good morning'.

Jeff was still not ready to begin the day. He decided to ignore everything happening around him—including Abed's genitals, which he clearly felt through the pajama bottoms—and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Around noon he was woken by the doorbell. Pulling away the blanket and looking around, he saw Troy, opening the door and welcoming the pizza delivery guy, and Abed, picking up the garbage left from the day before, wrinkling his nose as he picked up the used kleenex.

He heard Troy's saying, "I hope you like pizza for lunch, Jeff."

Jeff put a hand on his stomach, noticed how empty it felt—he hadn't eaten anything since noon the day before, not taking popcorn into account—, and said, "Right now, I'd eat anything."

He sat up, put on the pajama top and waited a moment before he felt ready to brave the day. Then he helped Abed clean up while Troy set the table.

They didn't talk much during lunch and just listlessly commented on the cheese on the pizza and things like that. On the one hand, they were still very hung over (though his friends had recovered a lot better than he, probably because they had half his age), on the other hand, there was the issue of what had happened the night before. That was something that had to be talked about.

And when they still hadn't breached that topic when the pizza boxes were empty and their stomachs full, he decided that he would open the discussion. He cleared his throat and, still not sure whether they remembered, began, "So ... yesterday turned out to be quite an evening ..."

Nobody disagreed.

But nobody agreed either, they didn't say anything.

But they had to remember; because otherwise they wouldn't be so taciturn.

"Oh come on, don't be ridiculous. What are we so ashamed about? We jerked off together, big deal.—I don't know about you, but I liked it. In fact, it was awesome; I wouldn't mind doing it again."

Still no response from his friends, both stared blankly at the table.

"Or is it about Troy? Is it about ..." He wouldn't say it out loud, just in case they didn't remember.

"No ..." Troy slowly said, looking with a smile at Abed, who returned the smile. "Abed's alright with me loving him. It's ..." He fell silent.

Abed completed Troy's sentence. "It's _you_ , Jeff."

Jeff was taken aback. "Me?" he almost screamed. "Why?"

Was there something he had forgotten? Did he do something to them?

He strenuously tried to remember anything that might have been lost in the the booze.

Had he insulted or maybe even injured them? But why would he have done that?

Had he somehow outed Troy to the study group or his family? He didn't know where his phone was, but he might have used his friends' phones for that. Though why would he have done that?

Had he done something only Troy and Abed would consider as an insult? Like saying that if they used the Dreamatorium for jerking off and the like, it would become a Cream-atorium?

He suddenly felt sick, not because of the alcohol and the pizza; he felt pangs of remorse for something he might have done and forgotten afterwards.

Then Abed said out loud what was so horribly threatening to their friendship. "It's your penis, Jeff. It's so small." While Troy burst into laughter, Jeff's ire was set aflame once more. Abed added, laughing, "We can't hang out with someone who can't _hang it out_ like us."

Those idiots had pulled his leg.

While he was glad that there was no harm done to their relationship, he felt the urge to grab his wannabe friends and bash their skulls against one another. But he just said, amicably insulting them, "Go fuck yourselves, idiots." And when they had calmed down, he asked, "So … you're not going to become an item?"

Both his friends shook their heads, Troy more slowly than Abed.

"I regret not being gay," Abed said, "I'd love to be able to love Troy—"

"Not as much as me," Troy interjected with a sigh.

"—But maybe it's better that way," Abed went on, "more of something good doesn't always become something better."

"You said the same thing when I moved in with you, but that turned out great."

Abed smiled at Troy. "Yes, it did. It turned out to be one of the best things in my life. But think of it this way: We can keep what we have, and what we have, our friendship, is most awesome. We already have a Straight Flush, what are the chances of getting a Royal Flush?"

Troy took some consolation in this. "Yes, what we have is most awesome," he said, trying to take Abed's hand into his own, but just before he touched it, he shied away and instead ran his fingers through his hair. Abed didn't notice that.

And Jeff was thinking about something else: When Abed mentioned the Straight Flush, Jeff recalled something else from the night before; Jeff had had a Straight Flush and Abed had claimed that he held two sixes and had folded without showing his hand—but Troy had conjectured that Abed might—for whatever reason—have been bluffing.

Something in Abed's voice now roused in Jeff the suspicion that Abed was bluffing now as well, that he in fact loved Troy. It would certainly be thinkable, and Jeff could think of a bunch of reasons why Abed wouldn't admit it.

Abed could fear that his friendship with Troy, as strong as it was, might not be able to resist true love. He could be afraid of his father's reaction—Abed's father was not the most pleasant person, Jeff knew from experience. He could be afraid of a possible loss; considering how he dreaded the idea of losing Troy as a _friend_ , how horrible would be for Abed the idea of losing Troy as a _lover_? And, less thinkable, Abed could fear that he would be so happy with Troy that the both would shag until they'd starve.

Jeff decided to ignore these thoughts. Instead, he asked Troy the one thing that intrigued him now the most, "Are you going to come out to the study group, or shall we keep that a secret?"

Troy looked at Abed, then back at Jeff and said, "Give me some time. I'll tell them sooner or later."

"Don't be too afraid," Jeff said. "I suppose that Shirley and Pierce will be a little bit reluctant at first and will make old-fashioned statements and jokes, but deep down, they don't really care about that. They'll just need some time to digest that piece of information. Annie might be a bit difficult, seeing how she was once head over heels into you, but you know her: In the end, she'll be happy for you. And Britta will be overjoyed, of course, because she'll have a gay friend, so she can prove to everybody just how tolerant she is."

"Thanks, Jeff," Troy answered smiling, "but they aren't the problem. I don't know how my family will react. That's what I fear."

Jeff smiled back at him and said, "Don't worry too much. I don't know any of them, but I'm sure it won't change their feelings. And even if the worst should happen when you tell them, just remember: You'll always have your friends."

"That's right," Abed said, and half mechanically, half amicably put his arm around Troy's shoulder.

"Thanks, guys," Troy said, smiling cheerfully at Abed.

A little later Jeff felt like going home, like having a shower and ridding himself from the residues of all the liquids that had soiled his body in the last hours. He kindly refused the offer to use the shower of his hosts and went into the bedroom, where he changed back into his street clothes.

As he was tying his shoelaces, he suddenly heard his phone's signaling the arrival of a message. A few moments later he had found it, lying on top of Troy's wardrobe: on a box with the tag 'Dreamatorium Repair Kit'.

Of course, he was curious about its contents, about how his friends would repair their magic room if it ever broke down.

He put his hand on the lid to open it, but before he did so, he stopped.

It was absurd, but he couldn't do it. He felt ridiculous, but he liked the Dreamatorium better not knowing how it "works". And besides, it would probably be just some of that strange paper that lined its walls.

But whatever was inside, he decided that this was a mystery that had to stay a mystery, that the Dreamatorium was something that had to remain magic. Not knowing all the answers, doubting what might have been—wondering if Abed was bluffing—, wondering is sometimes a curse, but at the same time often puts spice into life. _Philosophy begins in wonder_ , he remembered having read long ago.

He put the repair kit back, stared curiously once more at it, then directed his attention at his phone. He ignored the thirteen messages from the Dean, and read the three from the girls. All three concerned the photo of his ringing at the neighbors.

Shirley wrote, "You know that's no behavior for someone like you, or for anyone else. Apart from that: The Lord has granted you a very nice behind!"

Annie wrote, "Jeff, you could get arrested!" followed by a blushing smiley and "But I like it." Jeff's heart skipped another beat as he imagined real Annie blushing.

Britta's message read as follows: "Ypi are sto;; ficlomg jpt/ Moce cpcl/" With a smile he put the phone back into his pockets, imagining Britta, drunk, trying to write something on her phone, but being distracted by the mental image of Jeff's hot body (and by a lot of booze).

Making sure that he had forgotten nothing, he went back into the living room to say his goodbyes.

"Well, I'll be going."

Jeff opened the door, stepped out, turned around, and said, "See you Monday."

"See you, Jeff. Don't overstrain your back," Troy said, hugging Jeff.

" _¡Hasta luego, Jefe!_ "

Then the door closed, and Jeff went home, wondering what he might have found had he opened that box.

* * *

 _That's all, folks! Feel free to leave a comment; I'd love to hear your opinions!_


End file.
